many funerals

If you know me or read my words, you probably have felt a virtual death rattle coming from my bones lately.

Yesterday I slipped out of the house and laid my head on the old bench we have on the porch. I wept so viscerally that I could barely see the pink of the sunset I had set out to watch.

I was told I was dramatic from age 2 on. But it’s not dramatic, it’s the existential corners of my soul that I let people into. And yes, I can go from absolute embodied bliss to wanting an asteroid to knock out the world in one quick swoop.

It is my way.

For two weeks I have whispered “I feel like I’m about to die.” to my husband. This is much different than the “I want to kill myself” I screamed at my ex for so many years.

This death is happening. It’s been slow, it’s been consuming but the death is happening.

I grieve so hard when things die. And honestly they die way before I ever let go of the body.

Yesterday was a peak of despair for me in so many ways. Lost in a sea of “should dos” I couldn’t quite say what I needed to get out of this paralyzing funk.

And then my friend from middle school texted me out of the blue and asked me if I wanted to hear her vivid dream from the night before.

So, you sent out funeral announcements for yourself. And everyone went to your old house on Sullivans Island and even Aunt Lucy and your grandparents were there. And no one really believed you were dead but we all went just in case. And you had built a hill with flowers on it and put a headstone there and then came and told all of us what you did and that everyone needed to move on. That you were fine and not actually dead but that if people kept treating you like who you used to be you’d leave and go start life somewhere else.

Chills.

How odd that after two weeks of feeling like I was dying, I heard this dream. I can see myself in it; fresh faced, light, and shining, ready for the next part.

But one cannot go to the next part dragging bones and sinew of what is no longer.

Today I woke up with just the tiniest bit of hope. By lunch this tiny bit of hope has grown to warm blaze. My skin feels new. My lungs that rattled yesterday have given way to expansive deep breaths.

I shall gather the flowers the mourners brought and climb the next hill.

***photo from my self portrait series for the year (come join me with weekly prompts over on Instagram) @yourbodyisfreakingart

and while you’re at it, follow @helenjoygeorge to see the girl who writes all this.